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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25244020">Dialed to Eleven</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelovelyspiderling/pseuds/littlelovelyspiderling'>littlelovelyspiderling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Precious Peter Parker, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Spider-Man: Homecoming (Movie), Tickling, Ticklish Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, ironman - Freeform, pete is super sensitive &amp; tony tickles him to try to find out why the end, spiderson, ticklish!peter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:34:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25244020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelovelyspiderling/pseuds/littlelovelyspiderling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The spider bite that gave Peter his powers has an unexpected (not to mention, embarrassing) side-effect that he wants gone. The kid turns to Tony Stark for help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>138</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dialed to Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Hey, uh, Mr. Stark?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Tony looked up from his workspace in surprise, flipping the welding mask off his eyes and on to his forehead. Peter Parker was standing in the doorway of his lab, his arms crossed with his hands clamped around each elbow, looking small and nervous. Stark hadn’t been expecting the kid to stop by the tower today. Normally, he called beforehand, or texted, or sent a string of those weird little internet pictures that made no sense but never ceased to make Peter burst out laughing.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Hey?” Tony replied. It came out less like a greeting and more like a question. “I mean, uh, hey.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Hi.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>They stared at each other for a few awkward seconds before Stark scoffed and stood. “Um…what’re you doing here? How did you even get in?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Peter glanced over his shoulder then back at the billionaire. “The, uh…the window.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Right,” he snorted. He had forgotten that he’d told FRIDAY to disable the tower’s defense protocols whenever she detected Spider-Man entering. He placed his blowtorch on the counter. “Well, what’s up? Do you need something?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The kid shook his head. “No,” he said, but he looked as if he was trying to convince himself he didn’t, and was doing a very bad job at it. Then he squeezed his eyes shut. “I mean, well, sorta. Maybe. I don’t know.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Tony motioned him forward. Hesitantly, Peter stepped into the lab.</p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What’s wrong?” Stark asked, slipping the welding goggles off his forehead. Peter stopped in front of him and bit his lip. The kid had a bad habit of tip-toeing around his words whenever he was trying to open up to others, especially when he was asking for help. It cut Tony a little that Peter still thought himself unworthy of directly requesting his mentor’s aid.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nothing’s really<em> wrong</em>, per se,” he finally mumbled out, twiddling his thumbs in front of his chest. “It’s just…it’s sorta…well, I’m not really sure how to explain it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stark wrinkled his nose. “Is this some kind of puberty thing? Where you’re, ya know, starting to <em>feel</em> some new things? Desires, urges, unfamiliar <em>yearnings</em>—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No!” Peter interrupted sharply, flushing red. “No, no, no. Not that.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—because if you really need someone to talk to, I mean—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I do <em>not</em>,” he insisted, practically gagging. “I’m done with puberty. Please stop.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony chuckled. “All right. If you say so. What is it, then?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter blinked and cleared his throat and shifted his weight between his feet. “Okay,” he said quietly, huffing out a quick breath. “Okay, so…you know how I got bit by a spider?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah,” Tony said.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And—and you know how it gave me powers?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mmhmm.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Right,” Peter said. “And remember how I told you how it also kind of dialed all my senses to eleven? Like, uh, made me a lot more sensitive to loud sounds and strong smells and other stuff?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stark nodded. “Vaguely, yes.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, I’ve sort of learned how to handle most of it. So that, you know, it doesn’t really bother me and I can use my heightened senses to my advantage.” Peter slowed his rant for an instant and scratched at his forearms, trying to gather his thoughts. “But, um…there’s been this one sort of side effect thing from the bite that’s just been bad. Like, not helpful and at all. And I want to try to make it go away, but I’m not sure how.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What kind of side effect?” Tony asked.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter hung his head and sighed. “It’s…well…” He glanced around the room, making absolutely sure it was just the two of them. “It’s kind of…embarrassing.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stark raised an eyebrow. “Embarrassing?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. He crossed his arms and chewed the inside of his cheek. Tony had seen the kid nervous and flustered before, but not like this. It was a very endearing look on the teenage superhero. Whatever it was that was bothering him was obviously hard for him to talk about, so Tony punched him playfully in the shoulder and offered him a reassuring smile.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, I can’t really help you unless you tell me what’s going on, kiddo.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know,” Peter groaned.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So why don’t you try explain whatever it is you’re dealing with, and I’ll promise not to tell anyone about it. Deal?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter searched his mentor’s expression for a moment, rocking back and forth on his heels, then let his shoulders sink.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Okay,” he said miserably. “Just promise you won’t make fun of me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stark grinned and wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulders. “I promise to do my very best. How about that?” He led the kid to a stool by his work bench and gestured for him to sit. “But I feel like whatever this is, you’re being a bit dramatic. I mean, it can’t be <em>that</em> debilitating, can it?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter sat and shook his head. “It’s not necessarily…<em>debilitating</em>,” he said. “It’s just…okay, here it goes.” He adjusted his positioning on the stool so that his feet were dangling above the floor. “So…um…y-you know how people are ticklish?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony narrowed his eyes at him. What kind of question was that? “Uh, sure,” he answered.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Okay, well, see, ever since I gained my powers, I’ve gotten…more ticklish.” The longer he spoke, the pinker his face became. “It’s like…I think since all of my other senses were heightened, my sense of touch was heightened, too.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Okay,” Stark said, trying to track with him, attempting not to smile. “Well, is that the only thing that’s gotten worse? Do you also feel, I don’t know,<em> pain </em>more acutely?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter tilted his head to the side. “No, not really. I feel pain <em>differently</em>, I guess, but I definitely have a higher tolerance for it now than I did before the bite. There’s a lot of things I feel differently now, but this…” He swallowed. “This is the only thing that’s just <em>worse</em>.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>At this point, the smile had bled through Tony’s defenses, and he was biting back a snort. “I mean, is it really that bad? I’m not sure there’s a cure for being ticklish, kid. It’s just how some people are.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter buried his hands in his lap anxiously. “I know, but…there’s being normally ticklish, and then there’s <em>this</em>.” He crossed his legs on top of the stool. “Most people are ticklish in just some places. You know, like, your feet, your belly, whatever. That’s how I used to be.” Peter combed a hand through his hair. “But now, it’s like…<em>everywhere.</em>”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stark blinked. “Everywhere?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He nodded shyly. “Yeah. And in the normal places, it’s like a hundred times worse. And I don’t know how to fix it.” The kid stared up at him with his big, brown, puppy-dog eyes. “Can you help?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony wasn’t sure if he should burst out laughing or feel bad for Peter. He kind of felt like doing both. It was such a cute and silly problem—certainly not the kind most superheroes had to deal with after developing powers. But the kid was clearly bent out of shape over it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I mean…I can try,” he said unconvincingly. “We can run some tests, I guess. Hop up on the table.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter did as he was told, looking nervous. “What kind of tests?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stark opened a cabinet under the counter and pulled out a bag of old paintbrushes, selecting the tiniest one from the batch. “This should work,” he said cheerfully. He swiveled back toward the kid. “Let’s test and write down how sensitive each area of your body is. A sort of ‘on a scale of 1-10’ kind of thing. Maybe that will give us some clues as to why your sense of touch is so whacked out right now.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter glanced between the brush and Stark’s face and audibly swallowed. “I mean, if you think it’ll help…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We’ll start simple,” he continued. “Let me see your hand.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The kid hesitated, then slowly extended his arm. Tony held Peter’s hand in his and flipped his palm upright.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Since there are two types of tickling sensations—knismesis and gargalesis —we’ll have to test both.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Knees-ma-what and gargly-who now?” Peter said.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Fancy words for, say, soft and feathery touches versus aggressive, squeezy-type touches.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter shuddered. “Oh god. I can already tell I’m going to hate this.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony chuckled, then laid the paintbrush against the kid’s hand. “Now then, how would you rate this?” he asked. He brushed the bristles lightly along his palm, and Peter immediately flinched away.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hehey!” he squealed, hugging his fist to his chest. “Not great!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Seriously?” Stark scoffed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter withered. “I <em>told</em> you it was bad.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m surprised I haven’t noticed this before now,” he chuckled. “How would you rate that spot?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The kid looked down at his hand. “A four, I guess? Maybe?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony raised a holographic silhouette of a body off the table in front of him and wrote a four and a ‘K’ in the air beside the palm with his finger. “Okay,” he said, tapping Peter’s knuckle. “Now the gargalesis.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter wrinkled his nose and gave his hand back to Stark. Tony started squeezing his fingers and palm experimentally. This time, Peter didn’t pull back.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m guessing this doesn’t bother you?” he asked.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah. I think it’s just the soft kind that’s worse there.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That makes sense,” Stark said. Without warning, he pinned Peter’s wrist to the table and starting sweeping the brush up his forearm.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Whahat?” Peter yelped. Sharp, adorable giggles immediately started jumping from his lips. “Wahahait! Mr. Starhark! Ahaha!” He thrashed and kicked until he was free, rolling to the other end of the table and shrinking his elbows to his sides. “W-what the hell was that for?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I think you need to be restrained so I can get the data I need to help you,” Stark explained. “If you squirm away from me the whole time, I don’t think we’re going to get accurate enough results.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Are you serious?” Peter said, blush burning at the tips of his ears.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony actually felt bad for the kid this time. A sympathetic, but also endeared kind of bad. Unfortunately, he wasn’t kidding. “I’m afraid so, bud. If you want me to help you, I need to properly diagnose the extent and severity of your symptoms.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter palmed his face with both hands. “Oh god,” he groaned, smiling anxiously through his fingers. “I mean, okay. <em>Fine,</em> I guess. If you really think it’ll help.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We could just forget about it, kid. Even if I can figure out the cause—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No,” he sighed. “I really want to know what’s going on.” He crawled to the middle of the table and flopped on his back with his arms above his head, puffing out his cheeks. Tony read this as a cue to go ahead and restrain him. He gave the word to FRIDAY, and metal clasps bubbled up from the table and latched around the kid’s wrists and ankles, making him jump in surprise.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Holy shit,” he gasped, immediately trying to wriggle free. The bonds held him firmly in place, keeping his arms and legs pinned against the cold surface. “I didn’t mean right now! Since when were those installed?”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What better time than the present?” Stark said with a shrug, walking up to his side. “Unless you’re still not sure about this.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m not,” he laughed nervously, stretching and shifting as much as the restraints allowed. “Definitely not, heh. But, I mean, go ahead, I guess.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stark couldn’t help but chuckle at the kid’s squirmy timidness. He wasn’t even touching him yet. “All right,” he said, lifting up the brush. “I’ll try to go quick.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The moment the bristles made contact with Peter’s wrist, he started twitching and giggling in the cutest way possible. It grew very clear very quick that Spider-Man hadn’t been joking: he was definitely more ticklish than the average person. A <em>lot </em>more. Tony was basically just holding the brush against his arm, and already the kid was turning red with laughter.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Wow,” Stark said, grinning. “That bad, huh?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m sohorry,” Peter giggled helplessly. “Ihi’m soho anxious!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So is it just the anxiety making you laugh, or does it really tickle that much? How would you rate this?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Seheven!” he stammered out, dropping his head against the table. Tony scoffed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Seven? I’m not even moving the brush!” Smiling wide, Stark started dragging the bristles down the length of his arm. The lower he got, the higher and wilder Peter’s laughter became. Tony found himself laughing along with him and fought to stay composed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ohoho my <em>gahad,</em>” Peter whined, balling his hands into fists.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I thought maybe you were exaggerating a bit. But man, this is…” His voice trailed off as he watched the teen giggle. His face hurt from grinning so much. “You have to admit, this is a pretty freaking adorable problem to have, kid. I’m almost tempted not to help you. Are you sure you want to get rid of it?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yehehes!” Peter laughed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Pleehease hurry uhuhup!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stark had a feeling he was going to regret requesting that. His suspicions were confirmed when he moved the brush below Peter’s elbow, and the kid leapt and squealed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ahahahack!” he cried. “Mihister Starhark! Thihis ihis torhorture!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Rating?” Tony inquired.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Tehehen!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stark rolled his eyes. “I don’t think your measuring system is very reliable. FRIDAY, scan him while I’m doing this and rate each area’s ticklishness based on his reactions.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>“On it,” </em>FRIDAY’s chipper voice replied from overhead. <em>“I’ll have a full map generated once you’ve finished testing his whole body.”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Perfect,” Stark said. He switched to squeezing Peter’s arm, which only elicited a reaction when he got close to his armpit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I cahan’t do thihis,” Peter whimpered.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sure you can,” Tony insisted. He plucked the paintbrush off the table and held it toward the kid’s underarm. Before he even touched him, Peter flinched away with a squeak.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Noho! Never mind! Ihi give up!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You give up?” Stark repeated mockingly. “We’ve barely even started.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s nohot worth it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A mischievous grin crawled across Tony’s face. “You should’ve thought of that before letting me pin you to the table.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The kid blinked at him, jaw dropping open. “W-what?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I believe this has to be done whether you like it or not,” he clarified matter-of-factly. “We need to get to the bottom of this for your own wellbeing. And at this point, it’s not like you can stop me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>With an evil gleam in his eye, Tony moved the brush closer to the kid’s armpit. Peter wrenched and squirmed, but to his horror, he realized Stark was right. He was trapped.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Wahait!” Peter cried. “Noho! Mr. Starhark! Please don’t!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony ignored him and slipped the brush inside his shirt sleeve, stroking the bristles against the unbearably sensitive skin under his arm. Peter gasped, then sputtered, then exploded into a whole new magnitude of laughter.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“AHAhahaha! Nohoho!” He twisted and floundered, but it was all in vain. There was no escaping the soft, feathery brushstrokes, which were painting circles and swirls and figure eights in the most ticklish spot of his vulnerable pit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter’s entire face flushed crimson. “Stohop! Stahahap! Mihister Starharhaha<em>haaa!”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Now this is where things start get interesting,” Tony said, smiling down at the blushing, laugh-wracked kid. He had meant to go easy on him at first, to only tickle him enough to get the data they needed, but now he was having too much fun. He set the brush down and switched to digging his thumbs into both of Peter’s armpits, kneading deep into the hollows with merciless intensity. This time, Peter shrieked.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“AHAHAHAHAAA!” Spider-Man arched his spine and shook his head from side to side, hiccups jumping from his throat. “N-NOHO! NOHOHAHAHAGH!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’d say that’s a pretty sensitive spot,” Stark noted gleefully. “What do you think, kiddo?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“HEHEHELP!” Peter pleaded between bouts of hysterical giggles. Tony tickled the entirety of each underarm before finally lifting his hands off the kid. He looked like he might explode if he didn’t give him a rest.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Gaha…” Peter wheezed, eyes wide, gulping down air like a fish. “Oho man…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ready for the next round?” Tony asked far too soon, twirling the paintbrush just above his tummy. Peter went rigid.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>“What?</em> Noho!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Better move this out of the way,” Stark said, lifting the kid’s shirt to expose his bare belly. “You know, so we can get the most accurate results.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter pulled at his restraints with all his might. “Mihister Stark! Come on! Lehet me goho!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But you asked me to help you figure this out,” he said innocently, spinning the paintbrush between his fingers. “I’m only doing what’s best for you. If I don’t help you fix this, and word gets out about your little weakness, then every super villain you encounter is going to hold you down and tickle you until you die—or until you spill the beans on all of the Avengers’ secrets.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter opened his mouth to retaliate, but he didn’t know what to say. “But—but—” was all he got out before Tony started fluttering the paintbrush just below his ribcage, and a giant grin cracked across his face. “Mmheehaha! Shihihit!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s just like painting a beautiful landscape,” Stark said, skimming the bristles slowly and delicately up his side. “You know, Bob Ross style. Except instead of canvas, I have a super giggly teenager.” He went down his side again. Then up. Then back down. Oscillating the brush in a wave-like motion. Poking the brush tip underneath his back. Then he switched to Peter’s other side, starting the whole masterpiece all over again. Peter was a squirmy mess.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I cahahan’t! Ihi can’t! <em>Pleeheehease!</em>”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“All right, I hear you,” Tony concurred. He swept the brush across Peter’s tummy, causing the kid to cringe and squeal. “Let’s move on, shall we?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nohohahaha!” Peter laughed, sucking in his abs and throwing his weight from side to side. His efforts did nothing to deter the brush’s cruel, smooth path; never once did the bristles lift from his unbelievably sensitive skin. They glided and slid and danced and wiggled; they skirted and fluttered and twitched and stroked. The brush scoured across every last inch of his tummy before honing on Peter’s bellybutton, poking and swirling inside and around. The kid screeched.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ihihihi’m <em>dyhyhing!”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I think you might be speaking too soon,” Tony said, placing the paintbrush on the table then wiggling his fingers threateningly. He didn’t attack right away, though—Peter was probably exaggerating about the whole <em>dying</em> thing, but the red color consuming his entire body told a different story. He didn’t want to take any chances. Plus, watching the kid giggle and squirm in anticipation was beyond adorable.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Y-you’re soho mean,” Peter wheezed, flinching and squealing every time Tony jumped at him. He clawed at the air just above his tummy, driving the kid up the wall. “Stahap! Shihit! You ahasshole!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh. So you want you me to <em>actually</em> tickle you instead of faking it?” Stark shrugged. “Okay then. I was trying to give you a break, but…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony reached down and wrapped his hands around Peter’s torso. The kid fell to pieces before he even started to tickle him, and Stark suddenly felt like a very peculiar and very cruel Spider-Man villain. He kneaded his fingers into his sides, his hips, his belly. He squeezed all over, quick and repetitive, then ground his knuckles into the entirety of his ribcage, followed by worming every fingertip between each rib. Peter’s wild laughing dissolved back into sporadic hiccups, which racked his whole frame and jumped from his throat.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony ceased his attack when the kid stopped making sounds altogether—once he was just lying there, bouncing with silent laughter, smiling the biggest smile in the world. It took him a minute to start laughing again, then another minute to actually form words between each giggle bout.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hehelp,” he whimpered.</p>
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  <p>“Yep,” Stark said. “I think we’ve got a fair reading on your upper body’s sensitivity.”</p>
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  <p>“Screhew you…” Peter panted breathlessly, tears shining in his eyes. “Ihi’m n-never…never trusting you agahain…”</p>
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  <p>When Tony didn’t respond, Peter turned to look up at him. He was surprised to see a flash of actual hurt cross his mentor’s expression. Stark’s hands fell to his sides.</p>
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  <p>“Aw, man. See, I can’t have that.”</p>
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  <p>Peter blinked repeatedly, wrinkling his brow. “Wait, w-what?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony’s eyes rose to the ceiling, and he snapped his fingers in the air. Instantly, the clasps on Spider-Man’s limbs unlatched and receded back into the table, leaving him stunned and free.</p>
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  <p>“I’m sorry, kiddo. I took it too far. You came to me for help, and I shouldn’t take that lightly.”</p>
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  <p>Slowly, Peter sat upright, hugging himself around the middle. His tummy and ribcage tingled all over, resulting in a few residual giggles slipping from his lips.</p>
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  <p>“I don’t ever want you to think you can’t trust me. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” The corners of Stark’s mouth lifted hesitantly. “I just really like seeing you smile and hearing you laugh. We’ve all been in a pretty dark spell since Thanos, so…” With a sigh, he waved his hand dismissively. “Anyway. FRIDAY probably has enough data to figure out what’s up with your biology. I’ll start working through it and I’ll text you if any potential leads come up.”</p>
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  <p>Peter stared at him, silent, unsure how to respond. On one hand, he absolutely <em>hated</em> how insanely ticklish he was. Everything else the spider bite had given him was helpful, powerful, heroic, but <em>this</em>—this was just embarrassing. It was a weakness, and he wanted all his weaknesses gone.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>On the other hand, it wasn’t a total negative. It was a way to make himself and others smiley and giggly even when spirits were low. Sure, it rendered him breathless and flustered. But, as much as he hated to admit it, it also cheered him up, brightened his mood, reminded him how to laugh when joy felt impossible.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Being abnormally ticklish wasn’t particularly to his liking. Neither was being restrained and tickled out of his mind. But he wasn’t entirely against affectionate pokes and prods every now and then. Ben used to tease him like that all the time, especially when school had him at his wits end. May did it to punctuate the fact that he was still a kid—<em>her</em> kid. It was a way to make him happy during times when he was determined not to be.</p>
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  <p>“No, I…I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t mean it.” Peter would trust Tony with his life. Nothing would ever change that. He rubbed at his aching ribs. “I just said it so you’d stop before I exploded.”</p>
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  <p>Stark chuckled. “Fair enough. I should’ve stopped before that, though. Your face was almost the color of your suit.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Heat flushed through Peter as he laughed shyly, cupping his rosy cheeks in his hands. “Ugh. It’s so embarrassing.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, like I said: your secret’s safe with me. And I won’t abuse my knowledge of it anymore. You’re free to go now.”</p>
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  <p>Peter glanced up at the ceiling then back at Tony. “Are you sure you have all the data you need?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He shrugged. “No. But I’ll do my best with what we’ve got.”</p>
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  <p>The kid crossed his arms against his chest and his legs against the table. “So…if you tested the rest of me, you think you’d have a better chance of figuring out what’s wrong?”</p>
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  <p>“Uh,” Stark said, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe? Probably. I mean, no guarantees, but…”</p>
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  <p>Peter nodded, then heaved a lofty sigh. “All right. Go ahead, then.”</p>
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  <p>Tony’s lip twitched. “Huh?”</p>
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  <p>“Test the rest of me,” he murmured. “Quickly, though, so I don’t spontaneously combust.”</p>
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  <p>“Are…you sure?” Stark asked, laying his palms against the table. “You seem to really hate it, and I don’t want to make you hate me for doing it to you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his legs, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t…necessarily…<em>hate</em> it,” he managed to say. He cleared his throat. “It’s just that it’s a weakness, and I’m a superhero. And superheroes aren’t supposed to have weaknesses.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As Tony looked upon his blushing mentee, a soft smile broke across his face. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, kiddo. Everyone has weaknesses, regardless of how super they may seem.” He poked him in the belly, making Peter leap and sputter. “Yours just happens to be a very adorable one.”</p>
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  <p>“Stohop,” Peter giggled, gripping his side.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mm, No, I don’t think I will,” Tony said smugly. He stood up straight and wagged his finger. “You see, Pete, you made the mistake of telling me you don’t hate it. Which means I now feel absolutely no remorse for doing <em>this.”</em></p>
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  <p>With two simultaneous clicks, the clasps suddenly reemerged from the table, trapping Spider-Man in his current position. Peter yelped in surprise as Stark rounded the table so he was standing behind him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“H-hey! Wait! Mr. Stark!” He pulled uselessly against the restraints, trying to turn to see over his shoulder, then squeaked when something feathery brushed the back of his neck.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What? I’m just doing what you said—testing the rest of you.” He fluttered the paintbrush against his neck, occasionally teasing his collarbone and tickling his ears, making Peter giggle and twist and flare with goosebumps.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nohoho! Ihi tahake it bahahack!” he squealed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Too late,” Tony said, switching to his hands. “Because if you don’t hate it, that means at least part of you enjoys it. Check and mate.” He squeezed at the muscle between Peter’s neck and shoulders, and the poor kid cringed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>Ahahaha! </em>Ihi dohohon’t!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sure, sure, whatever you say,” Stark chuckled. He gave him one last pinch, then stepped away, letting him take a breath. “Lucky for you, there’s really only one more place I think we need to test.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Whehere?” Peter gasped, slumping flat and hanging his head. The realization struck him before Tony even started moving to the opposite side of the table. “Wahait! Wait, wait, wahait!”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stark stopped by his feet and smiled sympathetically. “If you really don’t want me to, I won’t.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The kid groaned. “Ugh. Shihit. Just get it over with…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony pulled his left shoe and sock off. Peter was red and giggling just from <em>thinking</em> about those feathery bristles touching his soles, which made Stark chuckle.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Judging from your face and general disposition right now, am I correct in assuming this is your worst spot?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter squirmed. “Ihit’s all soho bad…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Maybe it has something to do with your stickiness,” Stark suggested. He stroked the brush from the ball of Peter’s foot to the tips of his toes, and the kid squawked.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“GAHAHAHA! Oho <em>nohoho!</em>” He expected him to stop after that, but Tony kept going, fluttering the bristles along the sides and arch of his foot, poking the plastic end between his toes. Peter went from laughing to shrieking to hiccuping in a matter of seconds, wrenching and twisting against his restraints. Stark ceased his attack in less than a minute—he truly believed the kid couldn’t survive a moment longer.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Okay, okay, we’re done,” he laughed, re-releasing Peter from the clasps holding his limbs hostage. “Geez, kid. I don’t know how you’ve managed to hide this for so long.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nohot…eheasily…” he wheezed. He curled into a tiny ball, dizzy and breathless.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>“Map generated,” </em>FRIDAY said from above. A diagram of a human body materialized in front of them with labels on different areas, listing their designated ticklishness rating. <em>“I’ll start running diagnostic tests right away.”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You do that,” Tony said. He turned back to Peter, who was still struggling to catch his breath. “I’ll let you know what she digs up, okay?.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yay…” he whimpered, lying on his side. Stark chuckled softly and placed a hand on his shoulder.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Are you sure you’re all right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>After a moment, Peter sat up, an exhausted but happy smile on his face. “Y-yeah,” he panted, wiping his eyes. “I’m fine, honestly. Just…<em>whew</em>.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I wish I didn’t have to resort to that to get you to smile and laugh like you used to,” Tony said, solemn. “You know, before…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah,” he giggled shyly. “I guess it isn’t all bad. Even if It is a weakness.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just don’t let your villains find out about it. Like, seriously. They’d break you in minutes. And possibly kill you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter winced. “Right, heh. Better not tell Sam or Bucky about it, either.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Smart thinking,” Stark said.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A week later, neither FRIDAY nor Stark had found any solid leads regarding the cause of the kid’s strange ailment, or how to get rid of it. Tony felt bad for putting him through all of that trouble for nothing, but surprisingly, Peter was okay with it. It was a part of him, just as much as his super-strength and sticky fingers and spider sense were, and he’d decided to accept that. Even if there was a way to get rid of it, he wasn’t so sure he would anymore.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As long as it wasn’t common knowledge, at least. If his secret got out, his opinion on the matter might do a one-eighty. Especially if any of the other Avengers discovered it. Perhaps in the long run it would make all of them, including Peter, a bit happier overall.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But good <em>god</em>—he’d be so freaking screwed.</p>
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